When You Made a Promise
by LeilaOpheliaRose
Summary: Remembering a promise that Quil made long ago, a promise that he has long forgotten, Claire is repeatedly heartbroken. Poor Claire, doesn't she know that promises are meant to be broken over time?
1. 8 years old

**Hey y'all! This is one of my first stories, so I will need your opinions and reviews to tell me whether to go on further or to just stop while I'm ahead! PLEASE review of you really want me to continue, because otherwise I won't know. Don't be afraid to be brutally honest also! All opinions and reviews will be appreciated and taken to heart! Thx and GOD BLESS!**

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><p><em><strong>TEN YEARS OLD…FIRST CRUSH...<strong>_

All I could hear through my endless sobs where Quil's fists pounding mercilessly on my bedroom door. Quil, my best friend in the entire world, totally freaked out when I ran through the living room, slamming the front door today after school. I flung my backpack on the floor and ran to my room. He immediately jumped up from his seat on the couch, where he had been watching t.v. and eating a bag of chips and followed me to my room, where I shut and locked my door. Who was I kidding, there was _no_ possible way that Marc Hallows could like me. I had gone to school this morning with expectations that had my confidence flowing, yet all that I had accomplished today was completely, and totally humiliating myself. Mark Hallows ignored me. Well, except for when he tripped me on the bus, causing me to spill my juice all over me, which, in return, caused he and his friends to all stop and laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

"Claire," Quil tried again, he sounded more and more in pain with each attempt, "Claire, _please_! Just let me in, you don't have to explain to me if you don't…" I cut him off by opening my door, obviously catching him by surprise. And, to my horror, I sniffled _very_ loudly.

He pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, picking me up, and cradling me to his chest. I never felt our bodies move until he sat us down on my bed; but he never let go off me…he never has.

"Qu…il", I hiccupped.

"Shhhhh…it's okay, Claire-bear, it's okay." He hummed into my ear, wiping my tears away carefully.

"No, it's-_hiccup_-not" and then the tears came again, like a torrent.

"He _hates _me"

"_Who_ hates you? Claire, it's impossible to hate you!"

"Apparently not!" I wailed, sitting up in his lap to face him.

"Who?" he pressed, as if needing proof to believe it.

I looked down at my hands. "Marc Hallows" I whispered. He stiffened below me.

"A guy?" he asked densely. I rolled my eyes at his stupidity.

"Ever heard of any girls named Marc before?" And then quietness.

"Sooo…did you, like, I dunno…_like_ this 'Marc' dude?" he asked timidly.

"Uh, kinda. But, not anymore. He's a jerk-face." Quil laughed at my analogy of him now.

"Well, he obviously didn't deserve you."

"Not according to him." I mumbled. He put a finger beneth my chin a forced me to look at him.

"Claire, listen. Don't let one boy ruin your day. He's obviously not worth it. You are a very special girl, Claire, and one day you are going to find someone very special that will be perfect for you and you for him. And, wanna know a little secret?" He waited for me to nod. "He won't turn you down."

"Promise?" I asked a little unsure. He just smiled at my change of heart.

"Cross my heart." He ran two russet fingers in an 'x' across his chest. I smiled back and gave him a hug.

"Now, how about some Chocolate-brownie ice cream?"

"Now you're talking!" And, with that, we ran at high speed to the kitchen, all previous heart-break suddenly gone.


	2. 13 years old

_**13 years old…Quil's POV…**_

"_I just don't get why you are being so difficult, Claire! This is so unlike you!"_ Daniel, Claire's father, was pacing the small living room's width while Claire sat on the couch in front of him. Her mother sat beside her, looking at her hands in her lap, the small lines on her face that seemed to have just appeared in the past six weeks making an appearance.

"_I'm_ not the one being difficult here! It's just a shirt!" Claire screeched back angrily. I sighed and shook my head.

"Claire, something of that size isn't worthy of being labeled as scarf, let alone a shirt." She turned her glare on me as the words seemingly spilled out of my mouth unconsciously. Uh-oh.

"Says the man that walks around _without_ a shirt 24/7." She retorted sarcastically. I stared straight into her eyes, and yet, I didn't see my Claire anywhere. This girl was foreign to me.

"Claire, just tell me why. _Why_ do you feel that you have to dress like this?" I pleaded with her.

"What can I say? It makes me feel good, but most of all it makes me _look_ good!" she exclaimed.

"So _this_ is what all o this is about? You looking _good_?" I bellowed. Her parents just stood back for now, letting me have my "moment" with her.

"_YES, _this is what this is about!" She spat in my face. She stood and slowly made her way closer to me with every step she took. "You think that I don't notice the way those guys at school stare at me when I pass by them in the hallway? They don't know my name, they don't know my favorite color, and they don't even know if I'm interested, yet they still take the time to look at _me_. To stare at _my_ body. Do you even understand how _good_ that makes me feel? It makes me feel hot. It makes me feel beautiful. It makes me feel _sexy_! _THERE_! I said it! I wanna feel _sexy_!" She ended huffing for air, her cheeks flushed, as I just stood there in horror.

Looking into her eyes, having never looked away from them through her entire rant, I saw pain, I saw heartache, I saw desperation, but I also saw another emotion that should never be seen in a 13 year old girls eyes.

I saw self-loathe.

She hated herself. My Claire hated herself.

"You _are_ beautiful." I murmured lamely.

She rolled her gorgeous black chocolate eyes and shook her head exasperatedly. "I can only make myself look beautiful. I am far from, though. But anything helps. I've got your kind _all_ figured out! It's all about size. Bigger bust, smaller waist, longer legs. It's all written out by your actions. Who your eyes linger on. _What_ your eyes linger on."

"NO! _NO!_ You shouldn't want to be looked at that way! You're _not_ a _slut_! So stop acting like one!" I spat in her face. She cringed under my glare, when I suddenly realized that was the first time I had ever yelled at her. My chest ached instantly. I yearned to reach out and hold her, but I restrained myself. She lowered her head and closed her eyes tight.

"Claire, I-" I nearly whispered.

"Stop, Quil. Just….stop." She backed away from me and instantly self-disgust flowed through my veins and bile rose in my throat. "But, thanks. Really. It's nice to finally know how you _truly_ see me after all of these years."

And with that, she was gone. Down the hallway and into her bedroom with a loud slam.

Her father was glaring at me, but didn't say anything; I knew he felt the same way about the situation, just didn't have the guts to say it. I drug my feet across their carpeted floor and forced myself out the front door. When my foot hit the bottom step, a heart-wrenching sob rang from an upstairs bedroom, where a heart broken teenage girl laid, crying her heart out. And my whole being was ripped in two.

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><p><strong>If you people like this, send in the reviews, or else you ain't gettin nothin'! (My southern slang comin' through! LOL) But, seriously, I only know if you are enjoying it, if you are reviewing! Just think, I hate writing these author notes just as much as you hate reading them! Alos, I am looking for a Beta, soooo...if any of y'all would like to beta this, or my other story that I am also working on, LET. ME. KNOW! REVIEW! Thanks and GOD BLESS! <strong>


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